"I sat down and tried to read, but I couldn't. After ten pages I was in a state of cold fury. Read! I didn't want to read, it was just a substitute for living" (141).In the modern mid-century, a young American girl goes to live abroad, in Paris, France, to presumably live and have an Adventure. And so Sally Jay Gorce goes on one. To some people this kind of adventure seems unrealistically romantic, but the afterword by the author leads me to believe that many of the stories themselves were based on her own. It’s quite a trip.

The heroine has a rich uncle benefactor, natch. And a sad elusive childhood, of course. She arrives in Paris and lands herself an Italian diplomat lover. She then falls into unrequited love with a fellow American she knows from home. There is another American, a painter, who provides quiet steadiness when love with the Italian goes sour. She is also the object of desire of a rugged and grounded Canadian. While all this sorts itself out, there are plenty of cafes and wild drinking, outlandish characters and frenemies. She even has a job, kind of, acting in a local theatre. It’s the romantic life we all wish we once lived when we had youth and beauty. The punchline is one last wild adventure that leads to an epiphany and concludes with safe and happy resolution (spoiler: marriage).

This story is not one I can relate to much: kind of old school, and reeks of Americans abroad in its heyday. That said, it’s a good yarn. It did have a slow start where I was becoming acquainted with the language and scene. And then I got into the rhythm and it swept me along. I felt very much like poor Judy, a sickly American unable or unknowledgeable how to live Sally Jay’s bold and carefree existence and must settle for the stories Sally Jay brings back to her in gossipy detail (this is also a great device well employed by Dundy). The last third whipped through pretty brilliantly and I was simply charmed. (And of course, at a personal level, I relished in the librarian-as-reoccuring-nightmare bit.)

"...the Ancient always began a table. It was his one dignity. He would come into the Select and sit down, and the table would start growing around him with friends and acquaintances. Even though he knew all the people there already, he never joined a table. When he arrived they moved over to him and that was that. So it was always his table" (82).

"Now here's the heavy iron. So I went back to New York to become a librarian. To actually *seek* out this thing I've been fleeing all my life. And (here it comes): a librarian is just not that easy to become" (236).

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This strikes me as a story that was good fiction and edgy when published in 1958, and which is now good fiction and historically interesting in 2023. Sally Jay Gorce embarks on adventures in discovering herself while discovering Paris, funded by a rich uncle after fulfilling a promise to complete her education first. I found some of the writing devices interesting and unique ("I stiffened my spine and tried to dance disapprovingly. Try it."). If you like fun fiction and tales of decades gone by, this is a worthy choice. ( )

"Last night was one of THOSE evenings. I wouldn't know what to call it. Eventful in an uneventful way. Boring; but interesting. Nothing much happening on the surface and everybody seething and stewing underneath---changing character all over the place." Page 180

I don't think I've read another novel where the protagonist came roaring off the page like Sally Jay Gorce does in this book. A twenty year old American girl who is spending the year (1958) in Paris, she is so fresh, so dynamic, so filled with energy that I couldn't help cheer her on as she faced one disaster after another. Lots of books have been written about Americans abroad but this one is the one that will stand out for me. All the characterizations are great but Sally Jay will stay with me for sure. Wild and wonderful.Enhanced by the terrific Backlisted podcast. ( )

> I remember all this part so very clearly. And I remember a little later wondering why things always turn out to be diametrically opposed to what you expect them to be. It’s no good even trying to predict what this opposite will be because it always fools you and turns out to be the opposite of that, if you see what I mean. If you think this is geometrically impossible all I can say is that you don’t know my life ( )

magnifique....sans effort....sur de soi.....zymotic! ( )